"True, she
doesn't know him as well as I do; but she knows him well enough.
Talk about women being refined! Why, they've got ostrich
stomachs."
"Do you know, Grant," said Craig thickly, so stuffed was his
mouth, "I think your refined women like men of my sort. I know I
can't bear anything but refined women. Now, you--you've got an
ostrich stomach. I've seen you quite pleased with women I'd not
lay my finger on. Yet most people'd say you were more sensitive
than I. Instead, you're much coarser--except about piffling,
piddling, paltry non-essentials. You strain at a gnat and swallow
a camel. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Margaret had penetrated
the fact that your coarseness is in-bred while mine is near
surface. Women have a surprising way of getting at the bottom of
things. I'm a good deal like a woman in that respect myself."
Grant thrust a cigar upon him, got him out of the room and on the
way out of the house as quickly as possible. "Insufferable
egotist!" he mumbled, by way of a parting kick. "Why do I like
him? Damned if I believe I do!"
He did not dress until late that afternoon, but lay in his rooms,
very low and miserable. When he issued forth it was to the garden-
party--and immediately he ran into Margaret and Craig, apparently
lying in wait for him.
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